


Seasons Future, Seasons Past

by Alethia



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People said there were no seasons in California. In Veronica’s opinion, those people were sadly incapable of grasping anything less than an anvil from on high. California seasons were about subtlety and nuance.</p>
<p>Those things Veronica knew all about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons Future, Seasons Past

People said there were no seasons in California. In Veronica’s opinion, those people were sadly incapable of grasping anything less than an anvil from on high. California seasons were about subtlety and nuance.

Those things Veronica knew all about.

The subtlety was in the change, though it melded into something obvious soon enough. The doldrums of California summer were no different, heat flicking at your lips like a last gasp before the slightest shift would bring fall and crispness to the air.

This summer was busy making itself felt before it would be swept away, a fun September heat wave that had everyone in tanks and shorts when all the stores were full of earthen-colored jackets and cords. By the time it’d be cold enough for those, the spring collection would already be out.

Clothing manufacturers couldn’t seem to appreciate the subtlety of California seasons, either, surprise, surprise.

It didn’t mean anything but that Veronica was still sweating, even though it was eight at night, even though she was wearing a strappy tank and skirt combo that if this summer weren’t out to prove something would do the deal, no problem.

Just another way life liked to screw over Veronica Mars.

The faculty offices were empty as she walked through, not even bothering with stealth since she well-knew the security guard wouldn’t be around for an hour and twenty-two minutes and that was only if he could ply himself away from the soccer game that she happened to know was just being aired.

So that gave her a blissful hour to snoop to her liking, kinda sad when there wasn’t even a challenge in it except—

She slowed to a stop at the very familiar figure lounging across from her targeted cluster of offices.

“Now isn’t this a surprise, Veronica Mars breaking and entering after-hours,” Weevil said, flicking his eyes to hers with a smirk. He didn’t move from where he was leaning against the dirty-white wall, looking defiantly comfortable; he’d been waiting.

She held up her hand, the metal tinkling loudly in the deserted hallway as she approached him. “Hardly breaking when you’ve got the key.”

“I won’t even ask.”

“But I will: what are you doing here, Weevil?”

He frowned—hardly sincere—looking for all the world like he was actually considering her question. “Pursuing higher education,” he said eventually, pointedly tilting his chin down.

She scoffed. “You could do with learning a few things.”

“I was thinking more like I could teach a few things.”

“Pretty sure they don’t have a class called How to Get Nicked and Tossed in the Slammer, but hey, suggest it anyway. Hearst _values diversity_ ,” she said, injecting as much scorn as she could into it.

It didn’t even faze him.

“Ah, how I’ve missed these little chats of ours.”

“I’d hate to keep you from it, then. I’ll just be on my way,” she said, smoothly sauntering past, twirling the key ring in her hand.

His grip on her arm stopped her cold; she couldn’t remember a time he’d actually put his hands on her. She resisted, but he had something to say, apparently, swinging her around to take his place against the wall, a sudden reversal of positions, his hold implacable.

Veronica gritted her teeth, the anger coming swift and devastating, an overreaction, probably, but then when had moderation ever been her forte? “You better back it up, _cholo_.”

He actually grinned at her. “Yeah? What you gonna do about it?”

Veronica tilted her head and looked down at her knee, so well-placed for this conversation—always thinking and she _always_ had an out, these days anyway—then back up to him, pulling out her Valley Girl smile. “Turn you into a soprano,” she said sweetly. 

His eyes flicked down, then back to hers, gauging her threat. He let go of her arm, but didn’t retreat any. Middle ground, then. 

“I always wanted to be a choirboy.”

“You’ve certainly got the height requirement covered,” she snarked, still sweet, covering up the simmering underneath. She didn’t know why this had suddenly gotten hostile, only that it had. 

She’d gotten to him with that crack, the brief flicker in his eyes giving him away, but he didn’t take the bait, just sailed on smoothly past and there was something enviable in that. “I’ll tell you what, since you’ve got all the self-preservation instincts of a lemming, I’m gonna help you out here. But I want it known that this means you’ll owe me.” 

Oh, he was going to _help_ her? Out of the goodness of his heart? And how did he know anything _about_ this, anyway?

“My firstborn?” she asked, aiming for that same sweetness but maybe failing a little with the stress of the heat and the case and having him near and broken girls with too-old eyes too tired to cry anymore.

She pushed the familiarity of that away. Job to do and Weevil had something to say about it. Veronica was a very good listener, heard more what people didn’t say, though Weevil was doing a frustratingly good job at keeping his motives hidden. Casual interest or was he keeping tabs on her? She wouldn’t be surprised by the latter and if it were something personal he would have been all up and offended by it. Weevil wasn’t good at keeping injustice to himself, even if it was the usual kind.

Amusement flickered over Weevil’s face, tinged with surprise, like he couldn’t believe she gave him that opening, but when had she _not_ given him that opening? He was the one who chose to run with it. 

“Oh, I can think of a couple ways you can make it up to me that’ll lead to that,” he said, tilting his head and leering at her.

“Gee, only a couple?”

“Have to underplay my skills. You girls tend to get scared and run away.” There was an odd inflection on that last part and Veronica cocked her head, trying to figure out if he was being purposefully cutting or was just that good at getting to her, so much he didn’t have to try.

Could go either way.

Veronica pretended to yawn, ignoring how her hand skimmed across his blank tank on the way to her mouth, finishing the motion off with a glance to her watch. An hour and nine minutes now. “Gosh, I’d love to stay and cast further disparagements on your prowess, but I have better things to do. Like watch grass grow and paint dry. So if you’d move this along…”

He simply rolled his eyes at the act, unimpressed as always, but thankfully, he got to the point: “Little birdie told me a story about the prof you’re lookin’ at, Micelli. Seems he likes ‘em a little less than curvy, if you know what I mean.” 

She did and how did she miss that? But no, she could have, she’d noted the lack of female companions and the strong interest in the girl, coming to a different conclusion entirely. Still, understandable, especially if he was being quiet about it. She would have needed an insider—like Weevil seemed to have—and would have gotten it eventually, but this saved her time, if it were true.

Of course she’d check to see if it were true. Still, made sense. And she’d gone to all that trouble of getting a copy of the guy’s keys.

And this little fact put her back onto the rich hallmate who’d lusted fruitlessly. Typical.

“Oh, Little Birdie, you trying to cover up those sparkly, gay-boy romps at Club Gomorrah? It’s okay; I’ll never tell,” she confided, leaning in to whisper between them even when no one was around, even when he was close enough as it was, his heat a complement to the whispering weight of the air around him. 

Weevil grinned, but there was a glint of danger behind it. He brought a finger up and trailed it down her arm, a fleshy pad with the bite of nail behind it, a message she didn’t know how to read; he’d never used _this_ method before. This Weevil was different, had been since he got out, and maybe Veronica had been too wrapped up in herself to notice it.

She was noticing it.

The hall was already too hot up here, stuffy in the close quarters of the office space, and Veronica could feel the sweat trickling down her spine. Weevil’s finger didn’t help, now resting just below her elbow, pressing either a warning or a reminder into her skin. Veronica could read words and bodies, pick the lies out like catching a snowflake that would never fall here, but she couldn’t read this touch—threat or gauntlet or something else, she couldn’t say.

“Careful, V. You don’t want me to have to prove my manhood to you. Ruin you for all other men.” Their usual banter, all covered in sexual innuendo, not even hiding it but now with something underneath it, something low and heated slamming straight through her, stoking that simmering that’d she’d put in check, but his touch did it, again, a goad like she never knew she had.

Dangerous that he wielded that. More so that he knew it.

She rammed her elbow out, shaking off the touch and pulling herself back and up, bracing. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a skanky ‘ho. You can’t ruin a skanky ‘ho. Can’t even rape her,” she said, maybe showing a little too much with the waver in that last part, but she’d thought she’d be past that. Not at Hearst, maybe never, anywhere, Aaron’s trial too public, too scandalous, and Hearst with too many whispering voices echoing Neptune High all over again. They whispered the same about the girl, the victim become the instigator in some sick perversion of justice.

Of course Weevil picked up on something, she couldn’t tell what, and it was new, not being able to pluck any of the information out of his eyes or his body; she didn’t like it. 

“Taking this a little personally, aren’t you?” He cocked his head, aggression visibly retreating back behind the everyday cutting evaluation he liked to keep in the forefront.

“No.”

The beat fell heavy between them, a long, stretch of a rubber band to see how far it would go until it broke, no matter that it became useless once it did. Weevil watched her eyes and Veronica refused to back down and maybe she should reconsider that strategy since it meant she saw it when he softened, when he figured out…something.

“Or workin’ through your own issues,” he guessed, not a question, gaze gone maybe a little cooler but definitely that much softer.

She kind of hated him for that, or maybe the ability to read her when he remained a granite wall with no convenient graffiti to clue her in.

“Armchair psych. You’re just full of surprises tonight.”

“Unwrap me, you’ll get even more.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“He was shocked to hear. Look, Micelli couldn’t have done it. Guy has an allergy to all kinds of female plumbing. There’s no way he would have raped her.” His words fell heavy between them, heavier than the heat of the air anyway, and Veronica sucked in a breath that smelled of him and sweat and dusty old paperwork, all mixed in with the tentative way their air pressed against each other’s. She usually didn’t care what boundaries she broke, but there was one here she desperately wanted to remain standing and she couldn’t say why.

Instead of focusing on that, she nodded the point, accepting his help like the offering it was. “This mean you’re gonna help me out?”

He shook his head once, jaw working. “I don’t play that way and you know it.”

“And yet, you’re waiting for me in a darkened hall at night. A girl could get ideas.”

“Must be a new thing for you. Don’t strain yourself.”

“All this concern. I’m all warm and gooey inside.”

He huffed out a laugh, eyes sweeping down her frame as far as they could go. “That one’s _too_ easy.” It was a protest, but a genial one, and he’d let it go, whatever he’d been thinking about her. Exactly as she’d intended.

Getting people to dance her way never ceased to amaze her. And still, she felt vaguely unsettled by him now, like there was some angle she wasn’t seeing or some shot she couldn’t quite bring into focus. Maybe it’d be different if she could capture this on film. Probably not, though. You couldn’t capture something dynamic, in the act of changing. That’s what he was doing, kept changing it up on her.

And he still wouldn’t answer the why.

“Likes a challenge, duly noted.”

He resisted the lightness of her tone, not smiling, cocking his head and _watching_ her again. She hadn’t intended _this_. “Must be tough, carrying the weight of all that vengeance around. Don’t let it crush you, V.”

“I don’t—”

He did smile, then, quelling. “V. If you ever need a break…I can be very distracting.”

She absorbed it, turned it around and around in her head, wondering what kind of offer—offering—that was, the beat falling long between them. Again. 

So she shook it off, shook her head, pushed it away. “Tsk. And owe you even more? Why would I want that?”

Weevil’s lips quirked, more forceful for her notice, bright focus suddenly _there_. And he knew it. He held all the cards in this and she was left floundering, even after he’d cleared up her case like it was _nothing_. A scary kind of knowing in that, scary when someone _else_ had it. 

“See ya around, Mars.”

With Weevil it wasn’t about subtlety. He never seemed to have learned care with words, only how to wield them in battle, protection or weapon, depending on the situation. No, he didn’t do subtle. With him it was more about the many ways he could drive the point home, the layers of threat and offering he gifted to others.

He was the quick seasonal shift, that anvil, flashy and glaringly obvious. But for all that force, his meaning depended on your perspective, a complexity underlying the simplicity that people tended to miss.

Veronica didn’t miss it, like she didn’t miss the heat when he tilted a nod at her and walked back the way she’d come. This was the end of summer and she was happy to see it go, even if it insisted on doing it in all its stubborn glory.

The fall would come soon enough.

***

Fin.


End file.
